


An English Rose

by Angleterre97



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angleterre97/pseuds/Angleterre97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beauty of spring, the glory of red blooms and a delicate peace. "Smells good." He said absentmindedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An English Rose

The only time Francis Bonnefoy could truly, honestly say that he enjoyed the English weather was on a rare, rare sunny spring day. A day like today.  
“Did you come here just to bother me?” Arthur asked as he looked up from the pruning he was doing. It was a lovely day, perfect for gardening and being outdoors.  
“Non, I simply came to smell the roses.” The Frenchman said matter-of-factly as he gently shut the red door of the gate and strode over to a patch of blood red blooms. “You always do have the best roses this time of year mon cheri~”  
“Grow your own roses.” Arthur mumbled, his face growing a slight shade of pink. (‘From the day’s heat, of course.’ He would explain if asked)  
“Ah, but it takes the touch of a true English gentleman to grow flowers such as these.” He leaned down and plucked a small one to twirl in his fingers, careful to mind the thorns.  
The Brit then turned from the bush he had been trimming, clippers in hand and eyebrow raised. “Are you actually admitting to the British being superior to the French?”  
Francis laughed lightly as he took the flower and sat down on the ornate wood bench at the end of the garden. “Oui, oui, but only in that respect.”  
So for the next stint of time (However long that was is uncertain with the sun melting away any sense of time and any sense to really care along with it) The Frenchman watched as Arthur carefully trimmed and tended to the various plants that he so adored. The serene calm that washed over the two men was perhaps even rarer than the sunny day.  
“Have you gotten your fill of roses yet frog?” The gardener asked as he placed his clippers down and took a seat next to the long-haired man on the bench, taking a well earned break.  
“Why? Are you sick of my company so soon?” Francis teased as he continued to twirl the red flower.   
“I can’t stand it in the first place.” Arthur replied lazily, to at peace by the warm rays and quiet chirping of birds in the distance to make an honest insult.  
The Frenchman smiled at the others half-hearted jab and moved to rest his head on the Brit’s shoulder.   
“Smells good.” He said absentmindedly. Arthur gave a little sigh.   
“Yes, the flowers do smell nice this year.” And when Francis chuckled a bit at this he turned his head to look at him “What’s so funny?” he asked, almost irritated.  
“I meant you mon amour, not the garden.”   
“Wha-what?’ The Brit stammered, face growing red.  
“Oui, like tea and book pages, and fresh cut grass and lemons.” The Frenchman replied, taking a deep whiff as if to emphasize. He lifted his head to look into the others face. “And the shades you turn when you’re mad or embarrassed…” he leaned in and stole as chaste kiss. “Just like a rose.”  
Arthur ‘hmphed’ as he crossed his arms and sent a glare towards the other, willing his blush to subside. “Roses have thorns you know.” He countered bluntly, and Francis smiled. He grabbed a hold of the other and quickly kissed him again before wrapping him up in a warm embrace.  
“Oh, but I would not have my perfect English rose any other way.”


End file.
